Two Mastiffs

Looking for a positive thing to write is like looking at pennies in a dustpan and trying to sift for them through the debris.  I’m still looking.

In two weeks two Mastiffs’ have come to the shelter, both with very different stories.  Cecil, a tan Mastiff with a black muzzle, laid in the ‘Bite Section’ of the shelter for several weeks.  I caught a glimpse of him when helping with other chores or duties, but didn’t realize how long he had been there until I read his card.  This area of the shelter is where new intakes go until there is room on the main kennel floor for them.  It is also where suspected ‘Bite Dogs’ are held for 10 days until either their owner claims them, or the owner surrenders them and they are euthanized, or on a rare occasion the animals behavior can be evaluated and the incident explained or understood and the dog may still go up for adoption.  It’s not really death row, but it’s not a very good place for a dog to find himself.

Cecil was full-grown and very large, and there are only three kennels on the main floor that could even hold him.  So he sat in these back kennels, able to basically stand up and turn around and lay down again.  Every time I saw Cecil he looked depressed.  Head on paws, he looked up but did not always lift up his head.  I was told he’d lost 15lbs since coming to the shelter, and showed little interest in the food placed in his kennel.

I felt so sorry for him, and vowed to get him out for a walk and get him some fresh air.  But as days grew busier and the shelter took in enough animals to be nearly beyond capacity, another day would slip away and I hadn’t taken him out.  Then I found out normal volunteers are not allowed in the Bite Section at all, because there are not supposed to be adoptable dogs even back there.  As such, there aren’t any dogs for the volunteers to walk, pet, or treat.  Despite the fact Cecil was simply a stray, he was isolated with these other more aggressive dogs, and rarely had a chance for companionship.  (I want to note, this isn’t how the shelter wants things to be, they just don’t have enough kennels, enough floor space, or enough staff to address all the dogs received.)

Cecil was fed, and his kennel was cleaned daily, but no one took him out, no one rubbed behind his ears, and no one ran their hands from the crest of his crown down his long spine to rub that ever so high butt of his that was higher than my waistline.  He just lay waiting and waiting.  Maybe he was waiting for his chance to walk outside, at least get out of his kennel, but I think he was waiting for his parents to come find him in this place he should never have ended up.  No dog gets to the size Cecil was without a family – so where was his now?

Finally, on one day last week I took him out.  I made a bee-line through the shelter avoiding all the pleading sets of eyes, ignoring all the yips and cries, and I went straight to the back with borrowed keys for this area and I asked Cecil if he wanted a walk.  Rising to his royal stature befitting his bloodline, this ever so gentle giant stood, and then lowered his head so I could place the lead around his neck.  Only then had I discovered Cecil had a collar – a novelty for a stray -- so without hesitation I flipped the leash around to the other end and attached it to the ring rather than subjugate him to the humility of slipping a lead over his head and around his neck.  Taking him out the back door, I tested his ability to obey commands, or at least respond to the tone of my voice, and discerned whether he would be an easy walk or a trial.  His size alone demands respect, and my experience thus far meant I should size up whether I could handle Cecil or not.  Well, creampuff isn’t the right word, but by comparison to others I’d walked that day, it’s about right.

With almost disbelief on his face, in his eyes, Cecil stepped out of the kennel and looked back at me for indication of where to go.  I motioned with my hand and he found the path without waiting to be shown.  Passing through the large gates around the back of the kennel, Cecil began to take longer steps, increasing his gate, as if to test me back; was he really out of his kennel, was his ordeal finally at an end?  I’m not a trained animal behaviorist, but anyone with eyes could see what Cecil was doing.  Walking him from the back of the shelter and down the long driveway, his head was held high, his ears erect, and his eyes brightened.  He was looking for his way home. 

Now, many dogs walk down this driveway and want to keep going, but they often display a true reckless abandon; they just want to be away from where they were, but they don’t always know where they want to go.  Cecil did.  Whether he was trying to pick up the scent of owners, or simply a yard, he had somewhere he preferred to be and showed intent to discover it. 

Once at the end of the drive, with a busy street ahead, with remorse, I turned Cecil around, and used soothing tones of voice to encourage him to keep walking, even as he knew the direction was not where he wanted to be.  He continued to look over his shoulders as if to indicate, we’ve surely made a wrong turn.  But obligingly Cecil kept walking, although I noticed a shortened gait, and lower ears.  Cecil was intelligent enough to interpret this turn as a direction back to which a kennel nearly the same length as his body awaited.

As you could imagine inadvertently parading with Cecil like this drew stares.  Others wanted to meet this massive canine, get close enough to realize the full size, and be part of his existence.  One family, looking at other canines, changed their perspective entirely and said they would even give Cecil a loving home and come back the very next day for him.  In one fell swoop, the sympathy I felt for Cecil longing to find his parents evaporated as I felt at least, he’d find a new loving family and home of his own.

Quite different from Cecil, the black Mastiff known only as #A11456897 came into the shelter this weekend while I was gone.  I saw him today as soon as I made my way to this end of the shelter.  Larger in size, much larger head, and ferocious bark, this Mastiff is a true ‘Bite Dog.’  This Mastiff mauled a child and was being held in case the child developed further symptoms and for purposes of litigation.  This Mastiff growled, barked, and lunged toward me through the kennel door and made his presence, his territory, and his dislike of my presence in his territory abundantly clear.  Working at the shelter for several weeks now, a bark or lunge rarely intimidates, but this Mastiff is scary.

This Mastiff will likely be put down, and it will probably take several humans to do it.  This Mastiff is in the same kennel that Cecil was, in a similar body even, but is nothing like the other.  His eyes show only distrust and anger where Cecil showed kindness and observation.  Aside from sharing a bloodline, the two canines have no other similarities except for this – terrible owners.  One owner lost his or her dog, the member of their pack they neither placed a tracking chip in nor successfully sought out when Animal Control Officers (ACO) picked them up.  The other owner failed to train their large dog, or perhaps they trained him the worst way possible, but this dog is a danger to his own kind and ours.  Neither dog should have been at this shelter, neither should be hurt or have hurt anyone else – it’s not their breeds’ fault though, it’s our breed to blame.

To my sadness, Cecil died in that kennel from a turned stomach the same night I’d taken him for his one walk.  Even after the volunteers had discovered a rescue group to take him, we weren’t in time.  Cecil died alone, at night, with only a body of remains to mark a life once lived.  The black Mastiff will more than likely also die at this shelter, sharing the same kennel and fate as the other.  They represent to me those pennies, both swept up amid other debris and dirt.  Both had the same potential worth as the other and neither collected from the trash.